


Nicky and the Donut

by james



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, General Fusion of Canons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-07 14:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: In the morning, Clint comes downstairs and just wants coffee.  He finds more than coffee.





	Nicky and the Donut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sian1359](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/gifts).



Clint shoved himself out of bed, tripped over something crumpled on the floor – tshirt, pair of pants, velvet superhero cape, whatever – and stumbled gracefully down the stairs to the bathroom with his eyes still mostly closed. Annoying bladders were the only reason he'd gotten out of bed and as soon as he dealt with the six pack of beer and possibly four cups of coffee from yesterday, he was going right back to bed. Maybe right back to couch. Couch was probably going to win, to be honest: there weren't any stairs involved.

He'd tried keeping a jerry can by his bed, but Kate had given it one look and had glared at him with such horror and outrage that he'd had to make up a lie about it being left over from when he'd broken his ankle. It was fortunate he'd actually had a broken ankle recently enough she'd been forced to pretend to believe him.

He had also pointed out she shouldn't go into his bedroom at all, which had gotten him another look, but only a regular annoyed one. Clint was completely used to that so he'd mostly ignored it. It did mean that now he was forced to get out of bed and go downstairs in order to use the toilet like some kind of horrible civilized person – but it did also mean he would subsequently be closer to the coffee pot when it switched on.

If he'd set the timer. Had he set the timer? Possibly not. Possibly maybe? His exhausted, fighting-bad-robots post-haze was normal enough that he's pretty much mastered the ability to set the coffee maker up before going to bed. Clint had repeatedly turned down Tony's offer of an automated coffee system remote-controlled by JARVIS or even program a tiny AI for his very own, we'll wire it into the building and it can keep an eye out for all kinds of stuff, Barton, it'll be perfect and absolutely not likely to go on any world-domination sprees. Clint had countered that if he wanted to live that sort of life he would stay in Stark Tower where at least someone would also do his laundry.

Clint couldn't currently remember why he wasn't living in Stark Tower.

Maybe it was something to do with it being _Stark Tower._ Or, no, now he was awake enough to remember, it had everything to do with Tony and Steve being disgusting with each other and Nat giving him the hairy eyeball every time Clint skedaddled out of the room. A few years and maybe the honeymoon phase would be over and invitations for group sparring wouldn't end with Captain America and Ironman in their underwear pretending they were still practising.

What evil mastermind would use a zap gun to dissolve clothes, Clint wanted to know. Except no, he didn't, because now he'd thought it sure as fuck someone would invent one. He washed his hands in the dark, reminding himself to replace the light switch for sure, today. Or tomorrow.

“It isn't my fault if we end up naked,” he told Bucky as he left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen to find out if last-night-Clint had been kind and thoughtful enough to make now-Clint some coffee.

He got to the kitchen and was looking for the coffee maker, when he realised the Winter Soldier was looming in the shadows of Clint's living room. He spun around and yes, indeed, Bucky Barnes was actually standing there, looming and glowering, but in a quiet sort of non-murdery way, clutching his arm across his leather jacket like he'd broken a rib or two. Lucky was sitting at Bucky's feet, nose trained right where Bucky was clutching, and from the amount of vibrating the dog was doing, he was probably whining loudly.

Clint wondered where his hearing aids were. If they were working. Had he bought new batteries? Oh, right, they were on the same list as a new light switch.

Clint frowned at Bucky. “Shouldn't you be healed by now?” The fighting had ended twelve hours ago. Steve always healed broken bones within that time, but maybe Bucky's crappier Nazi version wasn't as efficient as Steve's Super Soldier Serum.

Bucky scowled at him. He didn't say anything useful, though, just kept standing there like maybe Clint would forget he'd seen him and he could keep hiding in the corner of the room. Which – okay maybe Clint had already seen him once or twice and _had_ forgotten? So maybe Barnes' hope was justified?

“I need coffee,” Clint said, frowning at the coffee maker. It didn't look on, but it didn't look not-on either. Maybe he was just early – God knew Clint didn't want to be up yet, and maybe last night he'd known that and had set the timer for a more reasonable hour of noon. He did see a pair of hearing aids on the counter though, the nasty weird ones Tony had shoved on him last week, telling him to test them out and report back. Every single set of aids Tony made for him was shiner, even higher tech, and scarier than the previous set. Clint wasn't entirely sure JARVIS or the tiny, unnamed Barton-AI wasn't installed in them. But they would have working power source, so Clint put them in and tuned them to a reasonable level for someone who didn't want to be awake and dealing with the world just yet.

“Mew,” said Bucky, and Clint looked over again. Bucky's jacket moved, punching out a bit in one small spot, and Bucky shifted his arm to hold his moving jacket still.

Clint tapped the hearing aid in his left ear and looked at Bucky's jacket. “Mew,” it said again, and Lucky barked once, then held still and whined, loudly and desperately. 

Clint looked from Lucky up to Bucky's face, watched how Bucky was staring at Lucky like he was trying to tell the dog to be quiet or you're going to give us away. 

“Bucky.”

Barnes didn't look up, but his jacket mewed again.

Clint tapped at the coffee maker, and the red light finally switched on. Coincidence? AI-assisted? Clint didn't care. He wanted coffee. He wanted to be in bed, warm, under blankets, and with no hearing aids telling him that animals in the apartment were breaking lamps.

“Will you please just bring them in like normal people and not keep hiding them under your jacket like I'm ever going to tell you no?” Clint watched the coffee maker start making coffee, sighed because that meant he still had to _wait._ “And why didn't you bring me coffee with whatever kitten you're hiding under your jacket?”

“I didn't make it that far,” Bucky said, and Clint's Stark Tech hearing aids let him know just how much guilt and embarrassment were in Bucky's tone.

“Didn't make it that far? Leo's is literally across the street.” 

“I got down to the second floor and Candice found me.” Bucky finally walked over, repeatedly nudging Lucky out of his way every time the dog tried to get his nose under Bucky's jacket. “She said they'd taken in a stray, it had kittens, and they'd given away all the others. They haven't been able to give this one away because it's missing an eye.”

Clint held out his hand. Bucky hesitated for a moment, then he slowly unzipped his jacket. Clint's jacket, he would have pointed out, except Bucky had nabbed it the first time he'd been over to Clint's place and Clint wasn't sure he ever wanted to demand it back because _Bucky was wearing his jacket._ He'd stolen two of Bucky's hoodies in retaliation, and they'd both ignored Nat when she asked – usually in public or in front of Fury – if they were wearing each other's underwear.

Which, probably, given how bad they both were at laundry. Didn't mean he was going to tell her that.

Bucky held out a tiny black and white kitten, barely old enough to be weaned. The right eye was grown over, looking more like it'd been born without the eye rather than lost it somehow. 

“So, they match at least,” Clint said, watching as Bucky carefully held the kitten down a bit so Lucky could get a good sniff. Lucky's tail was going mile-a-minute and Clint was briefly concerned he was going to sprain his tail. Again. The kitten didn't seem completely sure about the giant creature licking its head, so Bucky pulled it out of reach again and looked beseechingly at Clint.

“Oh my God, Bucky, I haven't said no to any of the cats you've brought home yet, why would I say no this time? As the landlord of this entire building I have put it in writing that pets are OK as long as they don't burn the place down.” Twelve year old Jules, three floors up, had a gecko he insisted was a fire-breathing lizard, and Clint had written him a special release saying Manfred was the only exception.

He started hunting for a clean coffee mug, or at least one that didn't smell weird. Donut was watching the entire proceedings from the kitchen counter, her disinterested poise clearly saying she cared about none of them and certainly did not see any brand new kittens invading her domain. She was grey with a white circle on her side, hence her name, which Clint insisted was perfectly suitable. Katie Kate had told him he was forbidden from naming any future pets. 

Bucky had snuck Donut in a year ago, before they'd actually started dating but after they'd started sleeping together. Mittens and Paddywhack were probably hiding around someplace, two sibling cats that Bucky had brought home five months ago with a sad tale about finding them in a bag near a dumpster. (Clint didn't point out that he'd seen the animal shelter ads on the laptop, had seen the very two cats in a picture staring at him with the names Howard and Frank. Their five year old neighbor Jonny had renamed them, and Kate had thrown up her hands and refused to call them anything other than 'cat one, cat two, and cat three.')

Clint liked the cats, appreciated that they would ignore him for several days then curl up and be warm and cosy. Unlike Lucky, who was now shoving his nose into Clint's hand, mouth around his leash, reminding him that humans had responsibilities that couldn't be dealt with via litter boxes.

“Coffee,” Clint whined, but he took the leash from Lucky. Lucky stood more or less still while he clipped on the leash, then realised his mistake as Lucky pulled him towards the door and Clint wasn't wearing shoes.

Donut yawned at him and batted at the coffee maker, knocking into the switch and turning it off. “Donut, no,” Clint sighed and wasn't surprised when the cat ignored him and began washing her face.

“Come on,” Bucky said. “I'll stash this one in the bathroom and get your shoes. We can buy coffee at Leo's after.”

“Can we name the kitten “Fury”?” Clint asked when he came back, still trying to keep Lucky from bolting out the closed front door. 

“Only if you want to die an unpleasant and mysterious death,” Bucky said, shrugging. 

“You'll avenge me though, right?”

“Course,” Bucky told him, coming over and finally making the morning a lot nicer, by giving Clint a kiss and taking Lucky's leash so Clint could find his shoes.

“Let's name him Nicky, then, and pretend we don't understand why Fury's mad.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose, but then nodded. “You've got a deal.”


End file.
